


November In Mourning

by venilia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, First War with Voldemort, Grief/Mourning, M/M, MWPP Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venilia/pseuds/venilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After, Remus went numb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	November In Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> Richard Harris and his lovely, husky voice shall be forever stuck in my mind as Dumbledore. I have no idea about flat addresses, so that was pulled out of my butt. I'm too lazy to find out if the lake is really visible from Dumbledore's office.

_November, 1980._

After Dumbledore showed up at his (their) door, after the shock and the anger, the horror and ... just after. After, Remus went numb.

It was very much, he pondered through a stronger haze than drugs, like missing a limb. Several limbs, really. There was the James and Lily limb, and the Peter limb, and then there was the part of him that had been Sirius.

He avoiding thinking about that part. It didn't hurt so much as it burned, like an infection, angry and full of vicious creamy puss. Poking at it was a bad idea.

But James (Oh God, Prongs!) and Lily (thoughts of her made him close his eyes tight, hold his breath for a moment) and, Merlin have mercy, poor brave Peter - those were like the phantom pains of a missing limb.

Sometimes, he'd forget they were gone.

He went all the way over to Peter's flat once, to return a vase he'd used when Sirius... well, he'd just needed it, was all. Remus stood at Peter's door stupidly for a full three minutes, ringing the doorbell and thinking that it wasn't yet ten o'clock so Peter must be in, before he realized what he was doing.

Remus found himself back in his own flat an hour or two later, not completely sure of the time between his door and Peter's beyond a vague memory of the sunlight glinting off of water, somewhere. He made himself tea, sat on the sofa, and quietly cried.

The third time he did this was after the first time he dreamed of Sirius.

In his dream all of it had been a nightmare and he 'woke' to Sirius humming in his ear and nuzzling further into Remus' shoulder, sharing the sweat two nude male bodies in the same bed during a rather warm October caused. Remus had turned and pressed his lips, tongue and saliva into Sirius' mouth without thought, had turned so Sirius (beautiful, wild) could straddle him. They were both hard and ready, and when Sirius shifted his hips just so, just the way Remus loved, Remus felt his head fall back with a sharp little gasp. Sirius laughed, pleased to have got the desired effect, and Remus would wake in a moment with the feel of his lover's sharp, nipping kiss to the left corner of his mouth.

He woke hard and leaking, so far gone that rolling over and thrusting into the sheets was a foregone conclusion. He woke wet from sweat, and he woke with tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. He grit his teeth to stop them, and tried desperately not to think of Sirius' smile as he rutted against the mattress like an unneutered mutt.

He came shuddering, an electric jolt or a kick to the guts, his eyes wide open. He came staring at his pillow through the dark of his (their) room at four AM on a Saturday morning in a cold, windy November.

Then he sat up, wiped his dick off with the sheets, stumbled in a non-caffinated way to the bog and threw up.

He avoided the mirror as he left the toilet to go put the bedding in the wash.

Later that day, after he got home from work (delivery boy for a Chinese restaurant down the street, every Friday and Saturday evening, stupid bright yellow button-up shirt that itched at the collar and shoulders) Remus came across Lily's jumper in the laundry and before he even thought twice about it, before he could even remember why he knew where to go now, he was in Godric's Hollow, in front of the the remains of what had once been a pretty little house with green curtains in the kitchen window. He'd helped Lily pick out of a catalogue when she had just been starting to show.

Awareness returned to the sound of Dumbledore's dry, husky voice recounting the mishaps of a student Remus didn't know, and the feeling of his hand being burned by a fine, white china tea cup. He looked down hurriedly, managing to catch himself before spilling the steaming tea all over his trousers, and the Headmaster looked up at the disruption.

"Ah," he rumbled, "you rejoin us, Mr. Lupin."

Remus blinked. There was a small fire, and a plate of chocolate biscuits. The sun was still out. "I, yes. I believe so. Yes." He took a trembly breath. "What's happened?"

"Madam Pomfrey found you." He leaned forward, knowingly. "You missed your appointment with her, I believe."

Yes, the full moon had been three days before, and per Madam Pomfrey's orders he was stopping by the Hogwarts infirmary daily so she could fret and mutter over him. The change hadn't been a good one.

He stirred his tea.

"Do you...ahm," he started, "I mean, I keep doing that. Visiting. Their houses, that is - or actually-" he stopped himself short of explaining that Peter had a flat, not a house, and that the second time had been a visit to reclaim his and Sirius' little green watering can that Peter had borrowed for his new window box. Instead Remus settled for looking at Dumbledore's wise old eyes helplessly. He felt like a first year looking for advice on homesickness and how to get on at a school full of wizards and witches who might put two and two together and get werewolf.

Dumbledore rumbled comfortingly, and patted at Remus' hand. He sat back in his chair, sucking on a peppermint, and there were no words for a while as they watched the fire.

At last, when the fire was the only light left in the room and the lights from the dormitories could be seen reflected off of the lake, Dumbledore stirred and said, "It takes a while, Mr. Lupin, to heal from these things."

Remus might have nodded, or he might not have. Anyway, he meant to. He watched the flames flicker.

"If I may make a suggestion?"

Remus looked up. He had to clear his throat before he could get his voice to answer, "Yes, sir?"

"Let yourself have that time, Mr. Lupin. Remus. Give yourself the time to heal. There's no shame in it."

Remus cleared his throat again, opened his mouth, changed his mind and closed it, and then cleared his throat a third time before simply nodding. There was nothing to be said. Hagrid walked him to the gates of Hogwarts soon after, talking jovially in a way that kept the air cheerful but didn't require Remus to respond. The giant's comforting and over enthusiastic clap on the shoulder saw Remus through the gates and through his apparition to the creaky door, '23' in pitted faux gilt, of his flat.

But when he woke up three nights later from another dream of Sirius, of a _murderer_ who'd shared his bed and shared his life, Remus reminded himself of the Headmaster's words and let the tears choke his throat, let the sobs out until he was hoarse and his breath was hiccupy and his eyes itched from dried salt and drier, November air.

When he slept again he felt calmer, and didn't dream.


End file.
